Scrapping (For Scraps) (Poetry)

For so-small a bird, the robin’s plucky stance
his posturing, then sudden bold attack
wings whirling like a dervish’s mad dance
seems ludicrous since clearly there’s no lack

of food — the sill is full of crumbs and seed
tits and pigeons eager for a share
and there’s enough for all — so no real need
to squabble. But then feathered tempers flare

when robin spies the others crowding round
and takes exception — flaunts his scarlet chest
stakes his claim and stands his narrow ground
sees off the first and threatens all the rest.

He eats his fill — picks through the sprinkled feast
while losers watch and wait in a near tree
for none dare challenge such a tiny beast
riled up in his defence of territory.

Victorious he struts, then flies away
the others swoop to peck at what remains
’til all is gone. The afternoon turns grey
and slowly,unsurprisingly, it rains.